


Hell is Being Young... Again

by Anwedragon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Young Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anwedragon/pseuds/Anwedragon
Summary: A late night visit throws Crowley for a loop when he opens the door to find a depressed Aziraphale on his doorstep... trapped in the body of a child.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to the artist that created them. I own nothing.

Overall, it had been a pretty decent day. Crowley sat in his throne with his feet on his desk and swirled his third glass of wine. His thoughts ran over the mischief he’d cause that day. Just a handful of minor temptations and irritations that kept the background evil at a comfortable buzz. He may not have been on Hell’s payroll anymore, but he felt the need to balance out any good his angel was doing. He had hoped to spend a nice evening with the angel, but Aziraphale wasn’t answering his phone. 

A soft knock on his door drew Crowley out of his thoughts. He glanced at his watch to find it had gotten late. No one should be knocking at his door at midnight. He briefly thought it could be Aziraphale coming to visit, but pushed that idea out of his head. The angel had only been to his flat twice. Once when the world hadn’t ended and once more to deliver a gift for letting him stay.

The knock sounded again.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Crowley drug his feet from his desk and set his wine glass down. “This had better be good,” he called to whomever was disturbing him. He stalked over to the door and ripped it open. “What?” he growled, giving off his best glower. His heart dropped when his gaze met with the empty wall across the hall. It dropped even further when his eyes found the short being standing where a welcome mat should have been. “Angel?” he sputtered.

Aziraphale let out a deep sigh. “Good evening, Crowley,” he said. “May I come in?”

Unable to find words, Crowley pushed the door open and stepped back. He knew this was his angel, but it didn’t look like his angel. The child that walked through the door couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. He was wrapped in an ill fitted green and black plaid bathrobe and looked rather rumpled. In fact, the only thing that made him look like the angel Crowley knew was the pale blonde curls hanging to his shoulders and the two puffy wings dragging behind him. “What happened?” he finally blurted out.

Another sigh slipped from Aziraphale, he turned towards the living room. “I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a bind,” he admitted.

“I can see that,” Crowley sassed, closing the door behind the angel. He turned to watch the angel walk down the hall. The sharp smell of copper reached his nose and he licked the air. The scent of angelic blood made his skin prickle. He looked down to find the tips of Aziraphale’s wings were dirty and red with blood. There was also a line of smeared footprints behind the angel. “You’re hurt?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I walked in from Whitechaple.”

“Barefoot?” Crowley asked as he followed the tiny angel to his uncomfortable couch. “With your wings out?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Aziraphale said, slightly irritated.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “You could have called me.”

An unhappy laugh slipped out of the angel as he climbed up on the couch. “How?” he complained. “I didn’t have my cell phone and I couldn’t get in my shop.”

“Want to tell me what happened?” Crowley finally asked.

Aziraphale sighed. “Would you make me a cup of tea?”

“Course,” Crowley said, turning to the kitchen. Obviously Aziraphale needed a minute to collect himself. Crowley spent a few minutes scrounging in his kitchen and came up with the stuff to make his angel tea. By the time he’d gotten back, Aziraphale had curled on Crowley’s couch with his wings hanging off behind him. Crowley set the tray of tea down on the coffee table and sat on the couch near Aziraphale’s bleeding feet. “Want to tell me what happened?” he asked again. He picked up the angel’s feet and pulled them into his lap to look at the bottoms. The skin had been rubbed raw from the long walk over concrete. 

“I got myself discorporated today,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley hissed in surprise. “How’d you do that?” he asked. He passed his hand over the damaged skin, healing it.

Another exhausted sigh slipped from the angel. “I got a call from one of my dealers,” he explained. “She’d found a very rare book I have been looking for. Of course I was delighted and took the Tube out to Whitechaple to meet her. Everything went swimmingly until the ride home.” He paused to take another steadying breath. “There was an explosion in the tunnel.”

Crowley nodded his head as he put things together. “And you were too busy saving others to think about yourself.”

Aziraphale rolled over and glared up at the demon. “There were children on that train. On a field trip from school.”

Crowley froze.

“I barely had time to make sure they were safe before the second explosion went off.” He took a deep sigh and shook his head. “I don’t remember anything after that.” He relaxed back to the couch, pushed his forehead into the leather back, and closed his eyes.

Fear rolled through Crowley. He gripped the angel’s ankle and ran his thumb over the small bone. “How come you’re back already?” It was no secret that getting a new corporation took a great deal of time and paperwork.

Aziraphale sighed again. “When I popped in Up Stairs, the Quartermaster had an absolute fit,” he explained. “Apparently someone talked about my lack of dying by Hell Fire and the poor man was simply beside himself. He threw me into the closet corporation and sent me back without a scrap of paperwork.”

“Without the paperwork?” Crowley repeated unbelieving. There was no way Heaven would cut through that much red tape and give Aziraphale a new body that quickly. Especially after they had averted the Apocalypse. 

“Yup,”Aziraphale popped the  _ p _ the same way Crowley did when annoyed or proud. “Tossed me in a body and chucked me back so fast the medics hadn’t finished trying to revive my old corporation yet.” He turned his head and looked at Crowley, pain set in his eyes. “I gave those young men such a terrible fright. Showing up in the middle of what they were doing. Naked.”

“Naked?” Crowley gasped. He would have laughed at the mental image, but he could see how much the whole event was disturbing his angel. “Did ya have your wings out too?” That would really have given them a good scare. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. Those came later.”

“What’d ya do?” Crowley asked, pushing the story along. 

“The only thing I could do,” Aziraphale admitted. “I grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on and ran.”

A smile turned the corner of Crowley’s face. “Your book?” he guessed.

“My book,” Aziraphale said with a nod.

Crowley chuckled. 

“What was I supposed to do?” Aziraphale whined. “I was completely naked, standing in a wrecked train, with a bunch of terrified first responders. I grabbed the only thing of mine I could reach -- the satchel with my book -- and ran.”

Nodding his head, Crowley considered the situation. He couldn’t think of anything else the angel could have done. “Where’d ya get the bathrobe?” he asked looking over the article that was clearly not Aziraphale's. 

Color flushed up the angel’s cheeks. “I nicked it.”

“You  _ whot _ ?” Crowley cried, flabbergasted. 

“I nicked it,” Aziraphale said again in a very defensive tone. He pulled his feet from Crowley’s hands and got up off the couch. He turned around, spread his wings wide and sat down so they weren’t pinned under him uncomfortable. He folded them back so they were as out of the way as possible. “While I was running through the train, I came across an open suitcase. “This,” he grabbed the collar of the robe and tugged on it, “had fallen out. So I took it.”

Delight bubbled up in Crowley’s heart. He loved to hear when the angel did things that weren’t very angelic. He stuffed his joy down and tried to keep it from showing. “Then what?”

Aziraphale gave him a sharp look that was just too adorable on his child-like face, but he turned before he could read the joy in Crowley’s eyes. He reached for the tea tray and poured himself a cup with cream and sugar. “When I got out of the Underground, I tried to miracle myself home. When that didn’t work, I tried flight. I could get my wings out, but I couldn’t get into the air.”

“You couldn’t fly?” Crowley said, sounding distressed. 

“It takes a certain amount of miracle to lift an angel into flight,” Aziraphale explained. “I quickly discovered I didn’t have enough power to do it.”

“You walked all the way here with your wings out?” Crowley asked.

“I couldn’t get them to back in once they were out,” Aziraphale admitted. “Fortunately, hiding them only took a minor miracle.”

“So you came all the way here?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “I tried going back to the bookshop, but I couldn’t get inside.”

“And,” Crowley prompted.

“I left the book at the coffee shop across the way with my name on it and came here,” Aziraphale continued. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Crowley sat and processed the story as Aziraphale picked up his tea and took a sip. He looked down into the cup like it offended him. He smacked his lips as if something tasted bad and set the cup down. “What did you do to this tea?” he asked.

Crowley looked at the tea service. “Nothing.”

“It tastes terrible,” Aziraphale admitted and tried to wipe the flavor off his tongue with the bathrobe.

Reaching out, Crowley took Aziraphale’s cup and sipped the tea. It tasted exactly like it always did. “Tastes alright to me.”

“It tastes over brewed and old,” Aziraphale complained. Horror washed over his face. “Oh. Oh no,” he gasped. He jumped up from the couch and ran towards the kitchen. 

Crowley chased after him and got there just in time to see the angel grab a glass from the counter and run some water from the sink into it. 

Aziraphale took a swig of the water and nearly choked on it. He sputtered and coughed it back up. “Bloody hell!” he cursed and sunk to the ground in front of the sink.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley cried as he dropped himself to the floor next to the downed angel. “What’s wrong?” He looked for some kind of injury, but couldn’t see anything. 

“I’m a fledgling again,” Aziraphale whined. He turned pained eyes up to Crowley. “In an untrained body.”

Crowley looked at him, not understanding.

Another sigh slipped from Aziraphale and he slumped over. “Do you remember Eden?”

“Yes?” the demon said hesitantly. He remembered a lot of things about the Garden. 

“Did you drink the water there?”

Crowley couldn’t see where this was going, but answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Describe it for me.”

Confusion filled the demon but he did what the angel asked. “It was cool and clean and sweet.”

“Compare that to your water here.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had the best filters in town, but he could draw no comparisons between the two other than the fact they were water. 

“Exactly,” Aziraphale cried. The angel folded in on himself even more. “You’ve had six thousand years to get from that water to this water. While they are fundamentally different, you still recognize this as water.” A quiver shook the angel’s wings. “This body expects the water of Eden.”

Understanding dawned on Crowley. He knew the water in his sink was water, so when he tasted it, his mind ignored all of the other things in the liquid and he tasted water. But, it had taken him years to figure out how to do that. His jaw clenched in anger as he looked at the distraught angel on his floor. Heaven had unwittingly taken away one of Aziraphale’s greatest pleasures. 

Reaching down Crowley drew Aziraphale up from the floor. “Come here, Angel.” He pulled the angel into his lap and tucked his head into the crook of his neck to rest on his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out together.” The fact the angel didn’t object to the demon’s embrace said a lot about Aziraphale’s state of mind. He hung limply in the demon’s arms. “What you need is a nice nap,” Crowley said. He wrapped his arms around the angel and rocked them both up from the floor. 

“Angels don’t sleep,” Aziraphale pointed out. His voice was weak and held none of the fire Crowley knew it could.

“Then it’s high time you learned,” Crowley said. He carried the angel back towards his bedroom. With a thought, his clothing shifted from his normal tight jeans to silk pajamas. With a second thought, Aziraphale’s bathrobe dropped away, leaving the angel in a set of cotton pajamas in his favorite tartan pattern. The change brought a snort of amusement from the angel, but no tension to any of his limbs. Crowley crawled into the bed, careful not to bend the angel’s wings. He cradled Aziraphale against his chest and hummed snippets of songs. His hands fluttered over the angel, petting and soothing everything from his long curly hair to the curve of his hip. Although the angel’s wings hung over his arm, Crowley avoided touching them with more than a light brush of fingertips along the angel’s back. Wings were very sensitive and personal. No matter how much he wanted to card his fingers through those soft feathers, he would wait until the angel invited him before going near them.

“Thank you,” the angel muttered softly into his shoulder.

Crowley bit back his usual rejection of thanks. Being thanked never sat well with him, but he let it slide. He could feel how fragile Aziraphale was. It was going to take a miracle of the grandest scale to fix the damage Heaven had caused. Unfortunately, Crowley could not provide that type of miracles, so he did the only thing he could. He dug deep in his heart and pulled out the love he held for his angel. He squeezed the angel tight as he let that feeling wrap around them. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me. This story is very much a work in progress. I'm doing my best to get through it, but I find the holidays are a hard time to get anything done, but I need to get this out, so yeah. I'm putting up what I can when I can. Please be patient with me as I try to survive this time of year in retail (if I don't survive, send flowers). 
> 
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome (we loves them, our precious(oh wait, wrong fandom)).


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his depression, Aziraphale had finally found sleep in the soft mutters and gentle hands of his demon. It had been a good sleep without dreams. As he rediscovered wakefulness, he found himself still wrapped in Crowley’s protective arms. A warm feeling curled around them that had nothing to do with Crowley’s down blankets. It tingled and took his breath away, very much like Tadfield had. He opened his eyes and glanced around without moving. There was nothing else there, so the feelings wrapped around him could only be coming from the demon, but he’d always believed that demons couldn’t love. 

Aziraphale laid there and pondered the emotion. He knew love. He felt it in others everyday. There was a freshness to the love of young couples. A refinement to that of old. An ache in the unrequited. Even fondness had its own flavor. But this love was different. It was like tasting a fine wine aged to perfection. It was deep and smooth with just hints of pain, longing, and acceptance. He wasn’t sure how long Crowley had loved him, but it had been a long time. How had he missed it?

As he turned things over in his mind, Aziraphale caressed the demon’s chest where his hand lay. He had always assumed that the low level buzz that came with the demon’s presence was something else. Possible a reaction between the divine and the demonic. He had written the feeling off a long time ago as just part of dealing with demons. He hadn’t really had much interaction with other demons to realize this wasn’t normal. Now, in this new corporation, untrained in how to ignore the effects of the Virtues, he could feel the true depth and breadth of Crowley’s love. It was almost painful. How had the demon loved him so fiercely for so long without showing it?

Thoughts popped into Aziraphale’s head. Memories of things Crowley had said and done. The demon had never made any grand gestures-- well, maybe one or two heroic rescues at the demon’s expense --but he had shown his caring in many little ways. A thoughtful bottle of wine. A hard to find book. A well timed lunch invite. Millions of little things spreading all the way back to the Garden. Those small acts of kindness had been happening more frequently within the eleven years before the apocalypse-that-wasn’t and the year since. It never occurred to him that those acts could be the demon’s way of showing love. He let out a deep sigh.

“You okay, Angel?” Crowley asked, curling his fingers into Aziraphale where they already held him. 

“No,” Aziraphale admitted as he moved in the demon’s arms, he rolled over and looked into the demon’s golden eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he moved towards the demon’s face. He glanced at the demon’s mouth in such a way that advertised what he wanted before meeting the demon’s gaze again.

Shock and surprise shone in the demon’s eyes, but Crowley didn’t move.

Slowly, as to give Crowley time to stop him, Aziraphale shifted up his body. Closing his eyes, he laid a kiss on the demon’s mouth. 

Crowley whimpered as his hands curled into Aziraphale’s body holding him tightly, but didn’t deepen the kiss beyond the gentle press of lips.

When Aziraphale pulled back, he stared down into the demon’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he whispered. He raised a hand to run his fingers through the other’s ginger hair. “We might have come to this sooner had I realized I wasn’t the only one in love.”

The demon’s unnecessary breath hitched in his chest. “Aziraphale,” he muttered.

The angel smiled and stroked his demon’s hair. A thought snuck into his brain. “It’s probably best I didn’t,” he said thinking of all the horrible things that could have gone wrong. “Our respective Head Offices would probably have had something to say about us _fraternizing_.” 

Pain lanced it’s way across Crowley’s face. Fraternizing had become a bad word for both of them.

Aziraphale placed another soft kiss on the demon’s lips and pulled back. “But that doesn’t matter now. I love you, and there isn’t anything either side can do about that. I won’t let them.”

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley cried, his arms wrapped tightly around Aziraphale and squeezed. He lifted his head and pressed it into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I love you,” he gasped. “More than anything.”

Aziraphale slipped his arm around the demon’s head to help support him. “I know,” he said soothingly. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize earlier. I can’t believe that I’m such an idiot that it took discorporation for me to understand what I was sensing.”

“Shut it,” Crowley mumbled into the space where his face was buried. “You’re not an idiot.”

Aziraphale smiled, turned his head, and let it rest against Crowley’s. “Yes I am,” he said without any heat to his words. “I’m an idiot that can’t even admit they are in love. Can you forgive me?”

Crowley shifts them around so they’re laying on their sides, face to face. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, moving so their foreheads touched. “It’s not like we’ve had the luxury to admit to anything.”

“Not until recently,” Aziraphale admitted. He reached up and stroked Crowley’s cheek. “But I should have known.” He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “I’m so dense.”

“Hush,” Crowley scolded. 

Arziraphale’s eyes popped open in surprise.

“I’m the only one that gets to put you down. I’m the demon afterall.”

A smile curled the angel’s mouth. “All right.” He relaxed into Crowley’s hold enjoying the feel of love wrapping around them. There was no reason to fret about things that had already been done. 

They cuddled together for a long time, relaxed in each other’s company, but Aziraphale’s worries started to surface as his brain churned more. He let out another deep sigh.

“Talk to me, Angle,” Crowley prompted.

Aziraphale pulled back so he could look into the demon’s face without going cross eyed. “What are we going to do now?”

A suggestive smile curled the demon’s mouth.

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale reprimanded. “You are sick if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he huffed, pulling himself out of the demon’s arms and throwing back the covers. “I’m currently in the body of a child!” He wiggled off the bed and stood up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t even thinking that, Angel,” Crowely protested as he pushed up from the bed. He paused and stared at Aziraphale. The angel could see many thoughts race across the demon’s face. It stopped on surprise. “Wait,” Crowley finally said. “What did you think I was thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale huffed. He could feel his ears go red. Had he been in his old corporeal form, he might have let the demon tempt him into something. But, just the thought of that as he was was wrong. He glanced away, trying to hide his embarrassment at even thinking such things. After a moment, he met the demon’s gaze again. “What were you thinking?”

A knowing grin slipped across Crowley’s face, but he did not tease Aziraphale. “I was thinking we could roll back over and go back to sleep for a few hundred years.”

Aziraphale sighed. “While that does sound wonderful,” he admitted. “It will not help me with my predicament.” He turned so Crowley could get a better view of his diminished form and exposed wings.

“Yes it would,” Crowley pushed. “By the time we wake up, that form will have matured enough to hold you properly.”

Another sigh slipped out of the angel. “That’s not how it works,” he tried to explain. “Yes, this body is too small to hold me at the moment, but just letting it grow won’t solve the other problems. It needs to be taught how to properly function.” He placed his hand on his head and closed his eyes, focusing on the things rushing around him. Right now his senses were flooded with Crowley’s love, but he could feel every other expression of Virtues for blocks around. “It doesn’t have a proper filter. It’s overwhelming.”

Realization covered Crowley’s face. “Oh.” The warmth of Crowley’s love pulled back, letting the rest of the world pour in. 

The weight of millions of Virtues all over London pounded at Aziraphale, staggering him. “Don’t,” he gasped. Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to lose to the overwhelming feelings beating at him. “I need…”

Warmth cradled him as Crowley joined him on the floor. The demon wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him into a protective hold. “Whatever you need,” the demon whispered into the angel’s shoulder. 

“Stay with me,” Aziraphale whispered back. He swallowed, trying to ease the tension in his chest. He forced his mouth to form the words the tightness in his throat threatened to stop. “Buffer me.” His anxieties popped up. What if he was asking too much of his demon? “Just until I learn to filter again.”

“For as long as you want.”

Aziraphale sank into the power of Crowley’s love and let it push everything else back. Things subsided to a point where the angel could deal with them again. “How did I ever make it across London like this?” he pondered. 

“Shock,” Crowley said, pushing Aziraphale back so he could meet the angel’s eyes. “It’s amazing what one can do when they are in shock.” He gave the angel an appraising look. “Are you better now?”

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment. He wanted to say no because he was far from where he wanted to be, but he couldn’t deny that he was better. The sleep and comfort had done him a great deal of good. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “I do believe…” His words were cut short by a strange buzz. Both beings looked over to the bedside table where Crowley’s phone was going off. They exchanged a glance before Crowley got up and went to answer it. There was only one person that ever called his phone, and that was Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in chapters, Christmas time is always so busy. Especially in retail. Once the New Year passes, I'll finally have time to dedicate to my stories again. Until then, Enjoy.
> 
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome and love.


	3. Chapter 3

Picking up the phone, Crowley looked at the number. The caller ID flashed across the screen showing it was the police. He shot the angel a worried look before answering the phone. “Hello?”

“Good morning,” a male voice answered. “I am Detective Travis Usher from the Metropolitan Police Department. Do I have the honor of speaking with Mr. Anthony J. Crowley?”

Crowley raised both his eyebrows and stared at Aziraphale. “Yes.”

“I’m very sorry to bother you this morning,” the detective continued. “But it’s important that you come down to the station in Whitechapel.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed. “What for?” he hissed. He did not like police. 

The detective cleared his throat nervously. “There was an accident in the Tube yesterday.”

“I heard,” Crowley said sharply.

“Yes,” the detective continued. “Well, we’re trying to clean it up and notify all parties involved. Unfortunately, we have one gentleman that remains unidentified. Yours was the only contact in his mobile.”

Crowley smiled. He remembered programming his number into the angel’s phone. It must have really thrown the police for a loop when they opened it up and had to call “Foul Fiend” to identify a body. His smile turned mischievous as a thought hit him. He gasped into the phone. “My husband!” he cried. “What’s happened to my husband?” He poured as much anxiety and terror in his voice that he could. “I know he didn’t come home last night, but I thought he was out with friends.” He rambled like a worried hen. “Please, oh please tell me he’s alright.”

There was a long pause on the phone. “What’s your husband’s name?”

“Azra Fell,” Crowley supplied. “He runs a bookshop in Soho.”

After another long pause, the detective finally spoke. “I think you should come down to the station, sir. As soon as possible.”

Crowley let tears clog his throat. “Let me get my things,” he said and cut the line before the detective could go on. 

Aziraphale glared at him. “You know they are going to check and find out we aren’t really married.”

Crowley shrugged and threw his phone down on the bed. “Filed the paperwork as soon as it was legal.”

Aziraphale stared at him in shock. “You did what?”

“Was years ago,” the demon explained, waving the angel’s worry away. “Was worried Hell would come after me. Didn’t want anything to happen to my Bentley. Filed the paperwork so you would get my stuff until I could get back. You know how humans are about abandoned things.”

Aziraphale sputtered. “We’ve been married since 2014?”

“Technically we’ve been married since 1942,” Crowley corrected. “But I had to file that paperwork in my female form. When the laws changed, I refiled it to keep things up to date.”

“Why didn’t you tell me we were married,” Aziraphale huffed. “You didn’t even ask.”

Crowley cocked his head and stared at the diminished angel. “Would you have said yes if I had?”

Aziraphale paused as the question rolled through him. Would he have said yes if the demon had asked him to marry in 1942? Probably not. He knew his feelings had bloomed for the demon back in that church, but there were so many things standing between them. They were hereditary enemies. Two sides of a war yet to come. There was no way he could have shown the demon the kind of affection that went with a proper marriage back then. He walked over to the demon and held out his hands. 

Crowley took them. 

“No,” the angel admitted. “But not because I didn't love you.” Aziraphale raised up on his toes, offering the demon a kiss. 

Crowley leaned down to accept it. 

“There was too much going on with our respective sides to risk such an arrangement,” the angel explained when they parted. “But,” he gave the demon’s hands a gentle squeeze, “I wouldn’t be opposed to such an arrangement now.”

A smile curled Crowley’s mouth. “Let’s get you sorted first,” he said. “I’ll ask you properly this time.” He released Aziraphale’s hands and turned towards the closet containing his clothing. “We got a body to identify.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and he turned, tracking the demon’s movements. “I can’t go identify my body,” he gasped.

Crowley stopped and turned to look at the angel. “Why not?”

Turning, Aziraphale flashed his wings again. “And what am I supposed to do with these?”

“We teach you to put them away,” Crowley said. He reached out and grabbed a stool out of thin air. “Come here.” He placed the stool on the floor in front of him.

“How?” Aziraphale asked. He crossed the room and climbed up on the stool facing Crowley.

“Did you ever train young angels?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I was too young to train others,” he admitted. He had been a young angel when the War had broken out. So many of his nest mates had Fallen that the fear of Falling was rampant among the ones left. It led to some very awkward times. When rumors that God was looking for angels for a special project started to spread, he had poured himself into his studies and practice in hopes that he would be picked. He had been far from the top of his class when he got the call to go to the Eastern Gate, but was glad to have the position, if only to get away from the tensions in Heaven.

“I did,” Crowley admitted. He circled Aziraphale until he stood behind him. “Can I touch your wings?”

Drawing in a steadying breath, Aziraphale bit his lip. His wing drew in closer to his back. He didn’t like it when people touched his feathers. It was too much of an intimate act. There was too much chance for another to hurt him. He had been the subject of more than one rough preening when he was young. He closed his eyes and relaxed in the warm aura of Crowley’s love. His wings stretched out behind him, seemingly of their own accord. A single primary brushed against the demon’s leg. It sent a shiver of longing through the angel and he suddenly wanted his friend to run his fingers through his feathers. To feel the comfort of someone caring for him without the fear of being hurt. “Please,” Aziraphale whispered.

The feel of the demon’s fingers on the top edge of his wings was electric. It was fire and ice, both burning and soothing at the same time. Aziraphale sucked a breath in between his teeth as his wings flared wide.

“I’m ssssorry,” Crowley hissed and started to back away.

“ _ No _ ,” Aziraphale gasped as soon as he realized what the demon was doing. He slammed his wings together, trapping the demon between them. It was excruciating in a pleasurable way. He hissed again, but did not let the demon go. “It’s just,” he started then paused to get used to the sensation. “No one’s touched my wings in such a long time,” he explained. “They’re sensitive.”

“They’re molting,” Crowley said. He raised his fingers and worked them into the feathers along Aziraphale’s back. “And they’re dirty,” he went on. “If I let you put them away like this, they’ll hurt.”

Aziraphale sighed as he got used to the feel of Crowley’s fingers in his feathers. He relaxed and gave the Serpent room to work. “I know,” he said. Dirty feathers were never pleasant. He’d been through enough moltings to know how uncomfortable confined wings could get. “Thank you.”

Silence hung around the pair as Crowley plucked feathers out of Aziraphale’s wings. He miracled a pan of warm water and a flannel to clean the blood and dirt from the long primaries. It took him a while, but when he stepped back, Aziraphale’s wings were glossy and white again. He snapped his fingers, collecting all the pulled feathers into a pile on his bed. “How’s that?” he asked.

Aziraphale stretched his wings and gave them a light flap. They felt loads better. “Amazing,” he admitted. He turned his head and beamed a bright smile at the demon. “Thank you.” He had rather enjoyed having Crowley tend to his wings. 

Crowley smiled back. “You’re welcome.” His face took on a more serious look. “Now, let's get these things put away.” He placed his hands on the outer edge of the wings. “Fold them up tight, Angel.”

Aziraphale pulled his wings in tight against his back, but they still did not drop into that space where they normally stayed.

“This is going to be easier, ‘cause you already know how to make your wings disappear,” Crowley explained. “You just need to learn how this body feels when their folded up. I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on your back. I’m going to push your wings out of reality. I want you to think about the feeling as they fold up.” 

Nodding, Aziraphale closed his eyes. Crowley’s hand pressed into the outer edge of his wings. 

“Here it comes,” warned the demon.

The pressure on his wings increased until he felt them pop out of reality. It made him gasp in a breath.

“Cha feel it?” asked the demon.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Good,” Crowley said. “Pop um back out and let's do it again.”

It took several times before Aziraphale could pull his wings in on his own

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, turning to look at his demon. “You are much too kind to me.”

“Ngk,” Crowley grumbled and waved the angel’s praise away. “Can’t take you anywhere with wings sticking out. ‘Sides can’t have you poppin them out in public.”

Aziraphale snickered. “Of course not.” He hopped down from the stool. “So, how do you feel about going to identify my body now?” He wasn’t sure he could handle it, but it was definitely something they needed to do.

“Let me get dressed,” Crowley answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates. Between Christmas and migraines, I haven't gotten much done. I hope you enjoy this bit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale head to the police station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in the updates on this story. Life has been a little rough for me lately.

“I can’t wear this,” Aziraphale huffed looking at the clothing Crowley had laid out for him.

“Why not?” the demon asked. 

“This is not me,” the angel protested. He held up the stone washed jeans as if they offended him. “Can’t you make me something closer to my normal outfit?”

Crowley crossed his arms and cocked his hip. “You can’t go out in an eighteen century suit,” the demon explained. “That isn’t what children wear these days.”

Aziraphale turned and shot Crowley an angry look. “I am not a child.”

“But you look like one,” Crowley pressed. 

Anger tightened the angel’s jaw. “I simply refuse to be subject to this… bebop.” He threw the jeans back onto the bed and crossed his arms. 

Crowley snickered. “Bebop is a music style, not a fashion statement,” the demon pointed out. “Now stop being a baby.” He snapped his fingers and dressed Aziraphale in the new clothing. 

The angel gasped in horror.

“See,” Crowley said. “Isn’t so bad.”

Aziraphale held his arms out away from his body as if the clothing offended him. “It’s so much worse,” the angel said. “It’s embarrassing.”

Crowley looked over his diminutive friend. “It’s not that bad. You’re cute.”

The angel glared at him. “I’m not supposed to be cute. I’m supposed to be distinguished.” The angel grabbed the front of his cream colored jumper and tugged it down. He huffed. “At least it isn’t black.” He wiggled in the clothing. “And it’s not too tight.”

“See,” Crowley said, pulling a cream colored jacket out of the air. “It’s not that bad.” He held the coat open for Aziraphale. The inside was done up in the angel’s favorite tartan pattern.

Aziraphale let out a resigned sigh and let the demon help him into the coat. “I guess not.” He drew in a steadying breath. “Thank you.”

Crowley smiled. “Come on,” the demon said, leading the way to the door.

Aziraphale followed.

When they reached the street, Aziraphale stopped just outside the Bentley. There was something intimidating about the car. “I don’t know about this?” he said. It seemed as if the car itself was trying to frighten him away. 

“Nonsense,” Crowley said. He opened the door to let the angel in. “It’s only the Bentley.”

Unsure, Aziraphale climbed inside. He was washed over with an unnerving amount of malice. He had never noticed anything like this in Crowley’s car before. It was like the car was alive and didn’t like him being inside it. “Hello old girl,” he said. Reaching out, he petted the dashboard. “It’s just me.” Feeling washed over Aziraphale. Stunned curiosity followed by an overwhelming love that nearly reviled Crowley’s. Aziraphale was shocked. Had the car really become sentient? He didn’t think it was possible, but then again, the Bentley was a demon’s car that had been rebuilt by the Antichrist. It was probably more sentient than any inanimate object could be. He sat back and relaxed into the car’s seat. 

Crowley climbed in the other side. “Here,” he held an apple out for Aziraphale to take. 

The angel looked at the gift. “What’s this?” He took the apple and looked at it. 

“Fruit,” Crowley said as he started up the car. “Eat it.”

Aziraphale gave the demon a confused look. “Why?”

“Fruit is the easiest thing for me to manipulate,” Crowley explained. “And you need to relearn how to enjoy food again. Eat it.”

The angel looked at the apple. It did look tasty. Giving in to Crowley’s demands, Aziraphale took a bite. “It’s disgusting,” he mumbled around the bite. He could taste every chemical ever used on the apple. 

“Don’t spit it out,” the demon ordered. 

Aziraphale held the nasty bit of apple in his mouth, not sure why the demon was torturing him like this.

“Chew it,” the demon ordered. 

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, not wanting the fruit to invade his mouth more. 

“It’s an apple,” Crowley explained. 

“It’s disgusting,” Aziraphale said again.

“It’s not,” Crowley insisted. “You know what apples taste like. You like apples. It’s crisp and sweet and delicious. Chew up your apple and remember what apples taste like.”

Aziraphale made a face as he chewed up the bite of apple. The thing in his mouth didn’t taste like the apples he remembered. He closed his eyes and tried to make the mash in his mouth taste like an apple. It had just started to take on an applish flavor when he swallowed it down. “Ugh,” he exclaimed now that his mouth was empty again. 

“Another bite,” ordered Crowley.

“Do I have too?” Aziraphale whined. 

Crowley shot him a harsh look. “Do you want to enjoy food again?”

Aziraphale gave the demon a pointed look. 

“I’m not going to  _ make _ you do it,” Crowley shrugged. “Just means no more delicious desserts.”

Aziraphale’s eyes got wide.

“No more tea.”

The angel’s eyes narrowed.

“No more crepps.”

Giving in to the demon’s demands, Aziraphale took another bite of the apple, doing his best to imagine that it actually tasted like apple. 

By the time they arrived at the Whitechapel Police station, Aziraphale had gotten through two apples, a banana, a bunch of grapes, and was working on a pear. The fruit was starting to actually taste like fruit and not some kind of weird chemical concoction. 

“Isn’t that better?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale finished off the pear. 

“Uhh,” Aziraphale said as he smacked his lips and tried to scrape the remaining tastes from his tongue. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But, I really don’t feel good now.” He pressed his hand to his overly full stomach where the fruit wasn’t sitting well.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the sensation went away. 

Aziraphale beamed an appreciative smile at his demon and rubbed his settled stomach. “Thank you.”

A sneer curled Crowley’s lips, but he didn’t comment. “Come on, Angel,” he said instead. “Let’s go poke at your corpse.” He opened the door and slipped out of the car.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined. “Please don’t be so rude.” Opening the door he hopped out of the car. 

Crowley snickered as he came around to join the angel. “What do you expect?” he asked cheerfully. “I’m a demon.”

Aziraphale shot him a withering look that made Crowley smile. It was adorable on the angel’s young face.

The demon held his hands up in defeat as he tried to wipe the grin from his face. “I promise to be properly distraught by your death.”

The angel shot him another bone withering look. “Don’t over do it,” he warned. “We are her to identify my body and collect my things, not cause a scene.”

“But Angel,” Crowley whined. “How can I be a properly grieving widower without tears?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and made an exasperated noise. “Fine,” he relented as they turned to go into the police station. “But please keep it respectable.” 

Crowley pouted and put thoughts of tearing at his clothing and dropping down on Aziraphale’s dead corporation out of his mind. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I expect you to be distraught too?”

The angel looked up at him. “Why would I be distraught over my old corporation?”

“There is only one reason someone would bring a child to identify a body,” Crowley pointed out and sauntered past the angel to open the door. 

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and he paused to look at the demon holding the door. “You can’t mean…” He hurried up his steps.

“Come on, young Master Fell,” Crowley said with a gleam in his eye. “Your father is waiting for you.”


End file.
